


The Dawn and the Dusk

by gypsyweaver



Series: A Tale of Crowns and Coins [9]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Beelzebub Whump, Body Horror, Forced Pregnancy, Heaven is Terrible (Good Omens), Ineffable Bureaucracy (Good Omens), Master/Slave, Nonbinary Beelzebub (Good Omens), Other, Sexual Slavery, The Ineffable Plan (Good Omens), They/Them Pronouns for Beelzebub (Good Omens), Torture, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-24
Updated: 2020-04-24
Packaged: 2021-03-02 02:21:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,774
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23817598
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gypsyweaver/pseuds/gypsyweaver
Summary: After Beelzebub strikes a deal with their old master, Gabriel is forced to watch.This is where I put a lot of exposition framed by non-con.
Relationships: Beelzebub/Gabriel (Good Omens), Beelzebub/Raphael (Good Omens)
Series: A Tale of Crowns and Coins [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1684990
Comments: 30
Kudos: 29





	The Dawn and the Dusk

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Cassandra_Summer](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cassandra_Summer/gifts).



> CW: weird body horror (no gore), past rape, forced pregnancies, stolen children, God is awful, sexual assault, physical assault, lactation, forced voyeurism, forced exhibitionism, this chapter is long and full of terrors
> 
> If I missed anything, please let me know.

While being melded to a chair was not painful, it was decidedly uncomfortable. After some contemplation on the matter, Gabriel decided that this was the worst thing that had ever happened to him. Even worse than the failed Apocalypse, and he had thought that nothing would ever top that particular fiasco. This was worse than being under Sandalphon's sandal at the beach. Yes, this was the worst. Trapped, with half a chair inside him, watching his demon desperately trying to keep them both encorporated.

Beelzebub struck their deal with Israfil, and Gabriel could only watch. He had full faith in Beelzebub, but he knew the next few moments (hours?) were going to be torture for both of them.

What was it with his family (close and extended) and their need to torture Beelzebub in front of him? When did they adopt mammalian tree-pissing rituals? Did they think that seeing Beelzebub naked, vulnerable, and hurt would somehow diminish his affections?

Moreover, why did they feel it necessary to abuse someone who is still (Fallen, but still) family? All of the Archangels were, technically, siblings.

Why, in God’s infinite mercy and wisdom, did Remiel Fall? Israfil was torturing them from their days in the Garden, and he was still an angel!

That implied some very disturbing truths about angels in general...and Gabriel in specific. That Beelzebub (who was efficient, but never overly cruel) was in Hell and he (who had bathed in the blood of the humans that God called Her enemies...and their innocent children) was still in Heaven...

It’s strange the places that a mind will wander when faced with something as dreadful as the scene in front of him. He watched Beelzebub idly rocking on Israfil’s lap, knowing intimately the warm weight of them, and how skilled they were at finding the right rhythm and the right amount of pressure and friction to apply.

Israfil’s hands settled on their waist, and their arms looped easily around his neck.

“So,” Beelzebub began, “Sandalphon?”

“Yes...” Israfil hissed as Beelzebub rolled their hips up, sealing the wet heat of them to the crotch of his jeans. “He came to me...carrying Nuriel. She was...nearly discorporated. He wouldn’t say what happened, but I could sense Pestilence in both of them. And Nuriel stank of your miracles.”

He leaned down, laying his forehead on their shoulder. His mouth was open and he was breathing heavily.

“Oh, God, I’d forgotten...” he murmured. “I’d forgotten how good you are.”

They reached down and pulled his face up, kissing Israfil as deeply as they could. Israfil closed his eyes, but Beelzebub did not. Their gaze fell on Gabriel, pleading silently.

He smiled, not his usual rictus grimace (which this situation clearly warranted), but something warmer. He wanted to say, “ _I know what you’re doing. I love you. Please find a way out of this. You’re so fucking clever._ ”

But all he could give Beelzebub was a warm smile as they charmed and soothed Israfil.

“God’s not here, Master,” they said softly. “I am. Call on me.”

“Remiel,” he sighed. The word was a song on his lips. A release. “Do you ever think about our son?”

Son?

“Every day.” Their face looked so placid. Ice calm. “Do you?”

“God provides for him. He doesn’t need me. He’s a piss-poor healer, anyways.” Israfil laughed. “Did Remiel tell you that they’re a mother, Gabriel? I’d guess not. How many kids have you had now?”

“Two.”

“One for me--God’s little experiment before she let the humans do it...what did you name him?”

“I named him after you, Master,” Beelzebub said. Their voice had a plastic sheen, as empty as the smiles Gabriel used in Heaven. “Aziraphale.”

Those four syllables rolled off of their tongue like raindrops. Gabriel was quite certain that he’d never heard Beelzebub say Aziraphale’s name before. If he’d been asked, he would have thought that Beelzebub didn’t know the name of Gabriel’s errant Principality.

They pronounced Aziraphale’s name like a prayer.

“That’s right...our little Aziraphale. Didn’t Gabriel try to kill him?”

“Yes, Master. Under orders from the Metatron.”

Israfil gripped Beelzebub by the back of their head, by their hair. Sharp inhale, body locked and hard, the demon stared up at Israfil, one hand on his chest, breathing in little gasps and waiting.

“‘Under orders from the Metatron?’ You dare defend Gabriel to me?” Israfil leaned in. His twilight eyes narrowed and a sneer curled his lip. “Yet, you failed to protect our child?”

“He lives,” Beelzebub replied. Their tone was calm, but their eyes betrayed their terror. “By God’s grace. Had he died, it would have also been by the grace of God. I never wanted the trials. God had clearly spoken on the matter, and Lucifer had vanished. But the Metatron demanded it! And so did the other Princes.”

“Trusting in God, are we now? You’ve finally learned your place,” Israfil said, releasing Beelzebub. “Think we ought to have another go at it? Might have a little girl this time. Or a...whatever it is that you are.”

“If it pleases you, Master.”

“You don’t seem very excited.”

“I miss them, when they leave,” Beelzebub said. Their words were tinged with pain, like crimson leaking down the white lips of blush roses. “Aziraphale was barely weaned and...I never even got to hold...my littlest one.”

“And what is his name?”

Beelzebub drew a measured breath. “Adam.”

The word fell like a gavel. The Antichrist. Gabriel supposed that the Antichrist must have had a mother. He just assumed that Lucifer would use a human. Some opposite of Mary. An enemy of God, who was not a virgin.

Gabriel realized that those descriptors fit Beelzebub.

Beelzebub lifted themself up on Israfil, and then lowered themself down. They moved as if underwater, slow and deliberate, sliding over the denim that Israfil wore. There was steel in their gaze, a resolve that Gabriel knew in his marrow. In the cockles of his heart.

“Talking about children makes me go cold and dry,” they said. “I thought you wanted me hot.”

“I do.”

“And wet.”

“Yes...”

“Obviously, you’re still the sadist that I remember--you’re hard as a rock,” they said, leaning back on Israfil and running their fingers along their leaking nipples. They smeared the milk across Israfil’s lips, pausing to let him lick their fingers clean. “But I think we really ought to return to the topic at hand.”

Beelzebub smiled, and ran their hands to the collar of Israfil’s button-down blouse. They grabbed and pulled. The material ripped, scattering buttons as it opened.

He didn’t wear an undershirt. Beelzebub ran their hand across his hairless chest, pausing at a posy pink nipple and thumbing a circle around it.

“You were saying? About Sandalphon and Nuriel?”

“I...discorporated both of them,” Israfil replied. Beelzebub watched him and pet his chest and belly as they listened. “I said it was necessary...to heal their corporations.” Beelzebub leaned forward, eyes riveted on Israfil's face. Gabriel had never known another creature capable of listening with their whole body. “While they were out...while they were...out of their skin...Jesus, Remiel...”

Beelzebub wrapped gentle arms around Israfil. “Go on. You’re nearly done, aren’t you?”

“If you keep rocking on me, yes.”

“That’s not what I meant.” Their lips found his neck and Beelzebub kissed him there. They played with his hair, pulling it out of its ponytail and ruffling it. “Please, Israfil...I need to know that I’m safe.”

“What did he do to you?”

“I swore an oath. I cannot say,” they said, and they caught Israfil open-mouthed for a kiss so tender and sweet that tears fell from his blue-black eyes.

“Remiel, sweet child, I can protect you.”

“You can. But will you?”

“Clever little beast,” Israfil spat. His mood turned like a coin in the air.

He lifted Beelzebub off of him and slammed them against the table. The wrought iron table screeched an inch across the stone tile, loudly protesting this abuse. Beelzebub yelped. Either by accident or by design, their head was very close to Gabriel. He could see their terror, and watch it give way to the impassive calm that Israfil must require.

The Angel of the Dusk was on them, then. One hand around their throat, and the other flat on their belly. He was between their legs, leaning over them. His face was very close to theirs.

“You do this to me,” he said, his voice low. “You’ve always done this to me. To Sandalphon. To Lucifer. I guess I should feel bad for Gabriel, but he’ll never have the sense to know that you’ve trapped him. I felt bad for you--I truly did. But God put you in Hell because of what you are.”

“She made me...” Beelzebub croaked. Their hands went to Israfil’s wrist. They held onto him, but did not fight him. “Did it not...occur to you? That She made me...to test you...”

The hand on their belly wandered southward. Israfil moved without any particular grace, entering Beelzebub. They winced, but recovered quickly.

“Look what a wanton little thing you are,” he hissed, pulling his hand free and holding it up. It glistened with their fluids. “I was going to do you the courtesy of finding somewhere more secluded...but I think you’re getting off on this. On him watching.”

Beelzebub leaned back, just a hair. Enough to touch Gabriel’s eyes with their own. Just a glance, but that glance held eons of pain. A whole galaxy of hurt whirled in those blue eyes as their face turned an alarming shade of red. They closed their eyes and released Israfil’s wrist. Both of their hands pistoned up, shoving Israfil back. They sat up on the table and crossed their ankles. Their hand went to their throat, and Gabriel assumed that they were healing themself.

Gabriel could see it in the places where Beelzebub’s hair parted. Their back was patterned in white and red with the flowers and leaves from the table. That’s how hard Israfil had held them down.

“Is this what you want?” they asked. Their voice was still so calm. “Do you want me laying here, legs open, unmoving, unspeaking? Because I can be all of those things.”

They hopped up from the table and went to Israfil, taking his hands and leading him. They pushed him back into his chair and straddled him.

“I thought you wanted this,” they said, grabbing his shoulder with one hand, rocking on him. “I thought you wanted me awake and lucid--on top of you--riding you into the sunset.”

“Oh...Remiel...”

“I cannot do that if you make me unconscious,” Beelzebub said. “Nuriel and Sandalphon. What did you do with them?”

“I interrogated them,” he replied. He ran his hands over the flowers and vines that were embossed on Beelzebub’s back. “Oh...I left marks.”

“You often did. I remember.”

“Forgive me, Remiel. You make me crazy.”

“When have I ever not forgiven you, Master?” Beelzebub said. “Your flesh is weak, but your spirit is pure. I’ve always understood that.”

They spoke sweetly, solicitously. A child trying to please a violent parent. A wounded bird trying to soothe the monster who broke their wings.

They kissed Israfil, an angel’s kiss of greeting. A pure, chaste thing.

He whimpered, and his hands went to their waist, resting there as they rocked on him.

“How did you interrogate them?” Beelzebub asked.

“Oh, there have always been back channels,” Israfil said. “An old student of mine...she provided me with a little jar of Hellfire. She was...much less satisfactory than you. But I was given very few new students after your Fall, and only a handful of us have the ability to heal anything at all. Beggars and choosers, I suppose.”

Beelzebub nodded through the lecture. Their eyes, though soft, were full of interest. They’d found a comfortable rhythm on Israfil’s lap, one that appeased him without rousing him.

“Dagon, was it?” they guessed. “Was it Dagon who gave you the Hellfire?”

“Yes. I’d caught up with her at one of her sea cults--oh, centuries ago. I inquired after you, and I requested the Hellfire,” Israfil explained. “She provided. I think she’d hoped I’d get myself in trouble with it. She never had any love for me.”

“Dagon probably assumed that you’d kill yourself playing with it,” Beelzebub said.

“Did you ever...with her?”

“Did I ever fuck her? No. She’s my scribe. I don’t fuck employees.”

“Did he teach you that nasty word?” Israfil thumbed over at Gabriel, who tried to look innocent. It probably didn’t work, because Beelzebub had to stifle a laugh.

“It’s growing on me,” they said.

“Stop saying it,” Israfil demanded. “Exactly who have you...been with?”

“You...someone...Nuriel, Lucifer, Gabriel.”

“Someone? Sandalphon?”

“I can’t say. I’m bound to an oath.”

“I know, just the same,” Israfil said. “Six thousand years and you’ve only had five lovers?”

They nodded. “One was assigned to me by God, two stole me away and abused me for a year and a day, one only touched me to put his child in me, and the last one I chose myself.”

“You have miserable taste.”

“That’s subjective.”

“I thought you had a thing with Pestilence,” Israfil said. His tone was cloying, and dangerous.

“We did not. Pestilence...well, I’ve known him since he was an infant. Adolescence was hard on him, and forced proximity starts a lot of ‘things’,” Beelzebub continued, a bit flustered. “He was a bold child. He wanted me.”

“You didn’t...reciprocate?”

“No. Absolutely not.” Beelzebub shook their head emphatically. “He met Pollution soon after. They were still a little child, but they grew quickly. Pollution despises me, and Pestilence took a liking to Pollution, so I saw less of Pestilence.”

“Were you friends, even? You and Pestilence?”

“Not really. It’s hard to be friends with someone who undoes your work. That’s what we did to each other.” Beelzebub paused. “He was just lusty, and I was just around.”

“So, only five lovers in six thousand years...”

“Yes. How many lovers have you taken over the years?”

“Many. It’s no sin among angels,” Israfil paused, leaning his head on Beelzebub’s shoulder. “None like you. Never was there one like you.”

Beelzebub stroked the back of his neck, but their eyes were on Gabriel. It strengthened him to see their confidence sparkling there. They would be alright, somehow. Both of them.

“Master...” they lifted his chin and kissed him. A lingering kiss that opened his mouth, the kind of kiss that was so slow and lovely that it tended to leave Gabriel weak--when he was on the receiving end of it. “You want me to take care of you...and I need to know about Sandalphon and Nuriel. How did the interrogation go?”

“They were out of their bodies. Just being near Hellfire is uncomfortable. Sandalphon is violent, but he’s no fool. He knows...he knows that we’re alone. That nobody has heard from God since the Crucifixion. That there was no omniscient being to tattle on me. He knew that there would be no punishment.” Israfil paused, considering his next words. “Without any witnesses and without any bodies, how could anybody claim that he and Nuriel were murdered?”

“Good question.”

“Sandalphon said...God, it’s blasphemy...”

“I’d never judge you for his words.”

“Sandalphon said that his brother hasn’t received a single order since the Crucifixion...”

“Metatron just, what, made it all up?”

“No. He followed the Divine Plan. For what that’s worth.”

“Aziraphale believes the Divine Plan is not the Ineffable Plan.”

“He’s like you--I mean, he couldn’t have any memory of you, but he thinks like you,” Israfil cupped their face with one hand. “Aziraphale thinks around things. That’s why he was so bloody hard to train.”

“Did you take him as a lover?” Beelzebub’s voice was level, but their eyes flashed red, and Gabriel dearly hoped that Israfil didn’t notice.

“No, I saw how he handled the flesh of others and that was enough for me,” he laughed. “I considered it. I was lonely, and he has your eyes.”

Beelzebub nodded and kept stroking Israfil’s face and neck. Gentle. Soothing. “What else did Sandalphon have to say?”

“Oh, I’d wanted to know about God--I’d long had my suspicions. I was never called back to Heaven, not until I was to blow that dratted horn and start the Apocalypse. This struck me as odd. No other angel had that freedom, except our child, of course.” He grabbed one of Beelzebub’s hands and kissed it. “And I wanted to know why Nuriel had your miracles on her.”

“And?”

“They said that they ambushed you on the beach,” he said. “They’d been watching you as much as they could this last year and some months. What else did they have to do? Armageddon called off. Nothing left to the Divine Plan. All of Heaven was just...waiting...for some sign from God.” He paused. “They’d hoped to get you alone, but Sandalphon saw you with Gabriel, and it enraged him. So they decided to attack you. They wanted to lock you up and toy with you as they had in Ekron.”

“How much were you told about Ekron?”

“All of it. Every moment, every act, in detail. If they hesitated, I just shook the jar of Hellfire at them.” He paused, sliding his hand into Beelzebub’s hair. He gripped them tightly there. “I wanted to hear it from you.”

“I’m bound...”

“Yes, you are,” Israfil said, and his grip on them softened. “You’re bound to me. Tell your master, or there will be consequences.”

“Sandalphon and Nuriel...they...”

“Are trapped inside their own soul cage--the same one that they held you in. And Metatron? He’s terrified to leave his office these days.” He stroked Beelzebub’s head, but it reminded Gabriel not of a lover’s touch, but the way that a human might pet a dog. “Anyways, I’m sure you’d just send the pieces back to Heaven. He’s no warrior. No healer, either.”

“Let me start with something...softer,” Beelzebub said. “Can we talk about Lucifer’s coin?”

“Alright...”

“Do you still have it?”

Israfil produced a gold coin. There was a face, in profile, stamped on the coin. Gabriel couldn’t be certain at his distance, but it looked like Lucifer. Israfil turned the coin over in his hand. There was a crown on the other side.

“Where did you find this?”

“It was under our tree...I think Lucifer left it for me after he claimed you.”

“He did.” Beelzebub took the coin from Israfil’s hand. “Heads or tails?”

“Must we?”

“Yes, this is a demonstration.” They kissed him, another sweet and chaste kiss. “Heads or tails?”

“Heads?”

Beelzebub flipped the coin, caught it, and slapped it on the back of their hand. “Tails,” they said, showing Israfil the coin. “Let’s try again.”

They did. Five more times. Israfil would call, and Beelzebub would flip. He was right twice of six.

“Alright, my turn.” Beelzebub handed the coin back to Israfil, and opened their hand, revealing another, identical coin.

“Different...coin?”

“Yes. Heads or tails?”

“Heads...?”

Beelzebub flipped the coin, and heads it was. They repeated the experiment ten times, and ten times, Israfil was right.

“Watch what happens when I call the coin,” Beelzebub said.

And they did, ten times. Ten times, Beelzebub was wrong.

“This is the coin we flipped,” Israfil said.

“Yes. Lucifer...after he dragged me to Hell, he explained that, since none of the healers had offended God enough to end up in Hell, he’d been allowed to choose one.” Beelzebub paused. “He chose me because of Aziraphale. He knew that I’d bred true once, and that the Great Plan called for him to have a son. He couldn’t afford a mistake.”

“But why switch the coins?”

“Lucifer knew that you were clever enough to figure out that he and God tricked you if you were allowed to keep the real coin,” Beelzebub explained. “Lucifer gave me the real one with the explanation of why I was in Hell. He and God decided that you wouldn’t be able to function if you were forced to decide which of us would Fall, so they agreed to let you use the coin.”

“They...worked together...to steal you?”

“More like a semi-amicable divorce with custody decisions,” Beelzebub said with a sigh. They lowered their head to Israfil’s neck and kissed him there. “Let me show you how much I’ve missed you...”

“But Sandalphon...I wanted to hear it from you.”

“There’s time,” they replied. “All the time in the world.”

Beelzebub reached down, under the waistband of Israfil’s jeans and began to work him there. They caught his mouth, forced it open and began kissing him with fervor. His twilight eyes opened in surprise, then closed again, slitted and sated as Beelzebub molded his mouth to suit them.

Gabriel saw something sparkle in his demon’s hand. He thought it was Lucifer’s coin, but Lucifer’s coin was gold. This was something silver.

He watched as Beelzebub began kissing down Israfil’s chest, They paused at his nipples, drawing them into their mouth and suckling at him. Teasing him. He leaned back, his dark hair rippling like a river over rocks in the light of the kitchen. Beelzebub slid off of him, settling between his knees.

“Here?” he asked. “In front of Gabriel?”

They nodded. “You want him to watch, don’t you?”

Gabriel’s eyes narrowed as his brother’s head lolled to one side, to gaze upon him. “He’s a petulant creature. Yes, let him watch. He needs to know who you belong to.”

Beelzebub said nothing, but unzipped Israfil and drew him out. Their hands were magic (in Gabriel’s very informed opinion), and after a few strokes, Israfil’s whole body relaxed. He closed his eyes as Beelzebub lowered their lips to the soft and sensitive skin above his Effort.

They opened their hand enough for the silver strip that was curled against their palm to unroll. Gabriel watched in fascination as they looped it around Israfil’s cock and balls.

“What is that?” Israfil asked.

Beelzebub stood up. “A restraining collar,” they said, their voice a peculiar mix of innocence and triumph. “I’ve learned many things in six thousand years. This collar is different from the Heavenly variety. I’ve made certain adjustments.”

Beelzebub held out their hand in front of Israfil’s startled face. They turned their wrist, palm up, and closed their fingers into a tight fist.

Israfil screamed and screamed.

**Author's Note:**

> Gifted to Cassandra_Summer, who has been reading my work from the very beginning! Thank you!
> 
> This was...difficult...to write.
> 
> Comments and kudos appreciated.


End file.
